


Dig a Little Deeper

by wilddragonflying



Series: Truth [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Author makes their own finale to Supernatural s9, Crossover, Fae-Blessed!Stiles, First Time, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Mates, Post Season 9, Sequel, Spoilers, alpha!Scott, beta!derek, either way, or is it fusion?, post 3b
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:16:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The news that a lot of the past year and half's activities could have been avoided almost destroyed Stiles. Then the Nogitsune happened, and... Well, his relationship with his father passed 'strained' approximately six months back.</p><p>Then two new hunters show up, and either they were tracking the new guy in town, or they brought him with them.</p><p>Stiles isn't sure he likes the way the new guy seems to have picked up Derek's old stalker tendencies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, since many people have requested a sequel to my fic Truth and Lies, I'm going to attempt to write it. Hopefully this won't suck(too much.) And I really need Sam and Dean to pull their heads out of their asses, and since it looks like the writers won't have that happen anytime soon, I'm going to do it myself.
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to collab/RP w/ me for spn/tw or tw/avengers crossovers, I will marry you on the spot. There needs to be more crossovers like those two.
> 
> Also, I refuse to believe that Kate is still alive, so she's dead and gone here. No more bothering Derek; poor wolf's been through enough.

The past few months had been... hard, to say the least.

His father nearly becoming a human sacrifice, the Alpha pack, his father's revelations, Derek leaving, the Nogitsune...

Stiles was done. He couldn't handle anymore stress; his pack was scattered, broken, and he didn't even know if they would ever be able to fully trust one another. There had been so many lies, deceptions, and plots-

But Stiles couldn't just be done. He had a town to protect, and even though his father was taking a more active role, resuming his role as a hunter, Stiles was still a little leery of the elder Stilinski. He hated it, but that's what his instincts were tellin him- his father had been yet another person to lie to him, so his father couldn't be trusted, not completely.

He could see how it affected his father as well.

Still, when his father called Stiles, asked him to come down to the station, Stiles came; his father had mentioned a couple of hunting buddies he wanted Stiles to meet.

When Stiles walked into the room, he simply raised one eyebrow at Chris's presence before leaning against the wall by the door, shutting the door but ready to bolt if he had to. He studied the two strangers intently. Both were tall, taller than Stiles, and he would have to hazard a guess that the younger was the tallest. He frowned; something about both men seemed... off, for lack of better term. "You're not normal hunters," he said accusingly, narrowing his eyes first at the hunters and then at his father and Chris. 

"We're Sam and Dean Winchester; we're not just hunters, we're Men of Letters." The shorter one had spoken- he'd gestured to himself when he'd said 'Dean,' so Stiles assumed that who he was.

"Not what I meant," Stiles snapped, pushing off of the wall to stand straighter. He knew who the Men of Letters were- had come across several articles while researching. "You've both been touched by the supernatural. More than touched," he added, letting his spark free for the first time since the Nogitsune had possessed him. "Feels like the supernatural sucker-punched you in the face and balls."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "How can you tell?"

"Trade secret," Stiles tossed out with a smirk before sobering and looking to his father. "Why did you want me to meet them?"

"Because they're on the trail of what they believe is a Fae," John answered.

"A Fae? Just to be clear, not the little fairies that are floating balls of light, but like, full-on battle-scale, flatten-entire-continents-with-magic Fae?"

Dean snorted, but shook his head when everyone looked at him questioningly. "We've had experience with fairies before," was all he offered in explanation. "The guy we're tracking is all Fae."

"Hm. I'll tell Scott, ask if he's scented anything strange."

"Scented?" Now the Winchesters were looking at him like  _he_ was strange.

Stiles bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Didn't my dad mention? I'm part of a pack."

***

John pinched the bridge of his nose as Stiles stalked out of the office. It was backhandedly reassuring that Stiles still liked to make dramatic exits when he was pissed. 

"What does he mean, he's part of a pack?" Dean demanded, rounding on John and Chris.

"Exactly that," John answered, trying to stay calm. "The McCall pack. Used to be the Hale pack, but there's no Hale alpha now. Stiles, me, Chris, and several other people are also members. There's only three werewolves in that pack, and they're not werewolves like you're likely to have encountered. Not rogues; they're pack wolves. Much more structured, much more civilized."

"We've dealt with a werewolf pack before," Sam said, and John raised an eyebrow.

"What color were their eyes when they shifted?"

"Gold."

"All of them?" At Sam's nod, John shook his head. "A pack of rogues. They'll never be a true pack, never as connected as a pack like ours is. Ours are rare, though. Getting rarer all the time; Chris thinks the gene's dying out."

"Or hunters are just getting more indiscriminate." Chris leveled a look at Dean when he said this; seeing the younger man bristle, John laid a placating hand on Argent's shoulder.

"Not the time, Chris." Turning to the brothers, he said, "You want my permission to hunt in this town, correct?" They nodded. "I can't give it. Beacon Hills is McCall territory; my Alpha will have to give his permission. I can promise you if he does, then you will have the full cooperation of the sheriff's department, but he's the one who decides whether you stay or leave."

Neither Winchester liked that idea, John could tell, but they accepted it.

***

Dean frowned heavily as he slid into the front seat of the Impala; they'd been told to go to the hospital, ask for Nurse McCall, and then ask to talk to her son. "I don't like this," he said as Sam pulled his door shut.

Sam shrugged. "Not like we have a choice- if this pack really is more connected than the other packs we've dealt with, then they're bound to be more powerful."

Dean grunted. "You ever come across anything like this in any book in the bunker?"

Sam shook his head. "Just something that speculated that the author had met creatures that looked human, but displayed behaviors similar to rogue werewolves', only... tamer. Like they were more in control of themselves. He thought perhaps he'd found a pack that had something in the bloodline."

"Must not be, if this pack used to be under a different name." Dean flipped off some asshole in a Camaro who passed him at twenty miles per hour over the speed limit.

Sam hummed thoughtfully. "Whatever it is, we need to be careful. The Fae was moving here with purpose, Dean. This town was the destination. And there's been a lot happening over the past year and a half."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know, I read the research."

"Exactly. Lot of strange things have happened here- a lot of supernatural things. The Fae had a reason to come here, and we need to figure out why."


	2. Chapter 2

When Sam and Dean arrived at the hospital, they didn't get a chance to take more than two steps towards the front doors when they were being bodily grabbed and carried back towards the woods. The two hunters were practically shoved to the ground, and when Dean glared up at their attackers, he nearly choked on air- there could be no doubt what they were, not with those weird faces and eyes that glowed ice, gold, and fire. They had to be werewolves.

Sam was the first one to recover his tongue, as the wolves seemed content to stand there, arms folded over their chests, and glare at the brothers. "So... Which one of you is the Alpha?"

"That'd be me." The wolf with the red eyes stepped forward, the one with golden eyes on his right, the wolf with blue eyes on his left.

"You're not like any werewolves we've met before," Sam said carefully.

"Not surprising." It was the blue-eyed wolf who answered this time. "Born wolves of our kind are getting rarer all the time, and there's fewer and fewer Alphas to turn people. And the ones that are still alive are smart enough to keep their heads down."

"So why don't you all?" Dean challenged. "This place is practically the home of a Hellmouth."

"Because we're not the ones who started this; Beacon Hills's supernatural history goes back a long time." The Alpha answered again. "But we're sure as hell going to be the ones to finish it. We've got a hunter, a banshee, a spark, a kitsune, werewolves, and some determined humans in our pack. If anyone can do it, we can."

"Doesn't seem like that's been going too well for you," Dean commented, and had to fight not to flinch back when the blue- and gold-eyed wolf both growled at him. They subsided when the Alpha growled at them.

"Stiles called me, told me you were coming. What are you names?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester," Sam said, gesturing to himself and then to Dean.

The Alpha studied them for a moment before nodding and shifting- it was extremely disconcerting to watch. The other two followed their Alpha's lead. The Alpha and the wolf on his right looked like they were  _teenagers_ , for Christ's sake! At least the wolf on the left looked like he was old enough to be out of college. "I'm Scott McCall; this is my territory. My Betas, Isaac and Derek." Scott hooked his thumb at the wolf on his left, then his right. "Why do you want to stay in our territory?"

"Stiles didn't tell you that?"

"He called me first," Derek cut in. "Said that there were two new hunters who could mean serious trouble in town. Told me to grab Isaac and get to the hospital; the hunters were headed there to talk to Scott about staying in town. He didn't say anything else."

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. "We're tracking a Fae."

"A fairy? We just chased off a nest of them a week ago," Isaac frowned, glancing at Scott. "We sprinkled holy water and iron filings all over the site and town; they shouldn't have come back."

"Not fairies," Sam corrected. "A Fae. Fairies' bigger, more powerful cousin. Sprinkles of holy water and iron filings won't keep him away, if he's as determined to be here as we think he is."

"Why would he want to be here?" Scott looked at the hunters suspiciously.

"That's just it; we don't know. We picked up his trail in Georgia; it only took him a day and a half to cross the country and come here. Whatever he's here for, he's desperate for it."

***

Derek laid a hand on Scott's shoulder. "I don't like them," he murmured, low enough that only Scott's advanced hearing would pick up on his words. "Stiles was right- there's something about these two that screams trouble. We shouldn't let them stay. We can take care of this Fae creature on our own."

Scott was frowning thoughtfully. "What if we can't, though?" he asked, his voice just as low as Derek's, though his gaze never slipped from the hunters, watching them warily. Derek was proud of Scott; he was becoming a great Alpha. "I'm fairly certain neither Stiles nor Lydia ever came across a creature like what these two are describing in the beastiary. Stiles at least, would have mentioned it, if only to point out how wrong fantasy stories get details."

Derek nodded slowly; that  _was_ a good point... "I still don't trust them. If you let them stay- "

"I'll make sure that everyone in the pack knows to keep an eye on them, don't worry," Scott murmured reassuringly.

***

Dean really didn't like the intense look in Isaac's eyes as the Alpha and Derek conferred. He didn't think the kid had blinked once in the minutes the other two wolves had been talking. Eventually, the other two wolves straightened, and the Alpha took a step forward, extending his hand. "You are welcome here; but you will not have free reign. Our pack must be kept updated on what you plan to do so that we can do damage control if necessary."

Dean snorted. "What, you think we're amateurs?"

Scott just looked at Dean steadily. "I think you two are trouble; every instinct I and my Betas have are telling us to not let you out of our sights. Be grateful that I am not telling Derek and Peter to trail you two. As it is, all of us will be keeping an eye on you."

"Then we deserve to know who will be watching us," Dean said stubbornly.

Derek snorted. "And let you know who to avoid? We're werewolves, not stupid."

Scott ignored Derek. "The pack members you already know of will be the only pack members you know of for now. If it becomes necessary, we will introduce you only to those pack members that need to become involved."

Sam stepped on Dean's foot, hard, before the older Winchester could say something else. "We accept your conditions," he said politely. "We have already agreed to work closely with the Sheriff's department; will that help?"

Scott nodded, and then the hunter and the werewolf shook hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading; I'm going to try to update this as often as possible until it's done. I've been kicking this plot around in my head for a while- ever since I posted Truth and Lies- and now I finally managed to get the first chapter set up in a satisfying way.
> 
> Up next, Stiles meets the Fae! (Assuming the characters cooperate; damned things have minds of their own sometimes.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you're going to get a bit of an explanation about what, exactly, the Winchesters are chasing and why it's in Beacon Hills- I'm basing the creature off of Slavic mythology, but as my research skills are nowhere near as awesome as Stiles's, I'm going to put emphasis on the word "basing." I'm adding and tweaking the mythology, but if you can think of a creature that might fit better from Slavic mythology, then please, do not hesitate to let me know!

The first thing Stiles notices about the man following him is that no one else seems to see him. The man is average height, blonde hair so light it is almost white, and there's something indefinable about his expression. Yet not one person on the streets of in the park or dinner seems to take any notice of the guy.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles let's his spark grow just a little bit, enough to tell him that his suspicions are correct: the man is definitely some supernatural creature. Stiles growls under his breath, indulging in a bit of frustration, before pulling himself together and formulating a plan. The man had been following him since he left the police station after calling Derek; he always maintained a set distance, and no matter what Stiles did, the man never seemed to get any father behind him.

So. If he couldn't run from the problem, or evade it, then he was going to have to confront it.

Stiles waited until they were in a less crowded part of the park before abruptly changing course and heading directly towards the stranger. Frustratingly, the stranger didn't seem surprised at Stiles's sudden course change; on the contrary, he seemed to have been expecting it. He stopped, waiting patiently as Stiles approached.

Stiles didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Who are you and why are you following me?" he demanded. He didn't cross his arms over his chest like he desperately wanted to; his instinct to be prepared to defend himself won out.

The man smiled enigmatically. "I am Sidhall. I am following you because you are Claudia's son."

Stiles's breath froze in his lungs. "You knew my mom?"

The man nodded. "My people were always friends with the Auttenberg family. I was saddened to hear of her passing, and curious to see if her son had inherited her talents."

"You mean the spark," Stiles finished. Sidhall nodded.

"You have inherited more than just the spark," he added. "It has been many generations since the blood of the _nichnytsia_ has surfaced in the Auttenberg line."

" _Nichnytsia_?" Stiles echoed, tripping over the pronunciation. "What is that?"

"A minor demon," Sidhall answered, holding up a hand to forestall Stiles's outraged protest. "Not all demons are like the Nogitsune, young one."

"How do you know about that?" Stiles demands, shocked.

Sidhall smiled. "My people can know much, if they choose," he responded enigmatically. "I shall speak with you later, Stiles. For now, you might want to have your phone ready; I am sure your Alpha will call you any moment."

Stiles only realized he was gone when his phone rang shrilly from his pocket. He answered it mechanically, not really registering the first part of what Scott was saying. " -been worried sick!"

Stiles forced himself to pay attention. "Who's been worried?"

" _Everyone_ , Stiles! No one could reach you, no one had seen you since you left the station, and it's been four hours!" Scott's voice was reaching banshee-scream decibels.

"That's- No, that's impossible. I was just- " Stiles cut himself off, narrowing his eyes as he spotted the two men from earlier walking down a path; one was holding what looked like a remodeled fire poker. "Scott, did you give those hunters permission to stay on our territory?"

"How are you even worried about that?!"

" _Answer_ me!" Stiles snarled.

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone. "Yes," Scott finally said, his tone wary. "Stiles, what's going on?"

"Hopefully I'll know more soon. Talk to you later, buddy." Stiles hung up on Scott's protesting and then began briskly making his way over to the where the two men had stopped by a bench and appeared to be arguing over something. 

He was going to get some answers.

***

"Dean, I told you- it's not going to be that easy; this thing's a Fae, and a pretty damned powerful at that. It's not just going to give up its location, let us catch it, this quickly- "

" _Oi_ , assholes!" Both Sam and Dean's heads snapped up and Sam raised his modified poker defensively before they realized that it was just the sheriff's kid, the one who'd been so eloquent about the depth of Sam and Dean's involvement in the supernatural.

Sam was going to wait to reply until the kid was closer, but Dean apparently had other ideas. "Hey, smartass," he called back, grinning when the irritated expression on Stiles's face grew to full-out thunderous.

Stiles ignored Sam completely in favor of reaching into his pocket and flinging a substance in Dean's face, making the hunter cough loudly before he was coughing silently. Sam stared at Dean in shock before glaring at the teenager. "What the hell did you do to him?"

Stiles smirked at Dean, who was now attempting to rant- and he looked like he was trying to do it at the top of his lungs, if the way he was going red in the face was any indication- before turning to Sam. "Just a mixture of herbs that, when activated and inhaled, causes the target to lose their voice for an hour or so. I don't want to talk to him; I want to talk to you. You're the one with the research skills, I'm guessing?"

"And if I wasn't?" Sam asked, mostly out of curiosity. "What would you do then?"

Stiles shrugged. "Wait for the herbs to wear off before asking him. Anyway, this Fae you're tracking- do you know anything about him beyond the fact that he's more powerful than fairies?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances before Sam nodded. They were supposed to cooperate with the McCall pack, anyway. "Yes. He's a  _simargl,_ to be specific. A Slavic creature who could turn into a winged dog; they're part Fae, part animal, and part human."

Stiles frowned thouhtfully. "Why are you tracking him?"

"It caused the death of several people in Georgia," Sam explained. "We usually don't like messing with creatures who haven't killed innocents."

A suspicious look crossed Stiles's face. "Then why did Chris single out Dean when he mentioned hunters becoming more indiscriminate?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Because... For a while, there, we did get kind of careless. He was under the influence of the Mark of Cain."

"Cain? As in Cain and Abel?"

Sam nodded. "It's a long story."

Stiles hummed noncommittally. "Could this creature have the ability to pull someone out of time, and warp their perception of that time?"

Sam straightened, looking at Stiles intently. "Have you met it?"

Stiles shrugged. "Answer the question."

The younger Winchester studied the teenager for another moment before replying, "Possibly. There's really not a whole lot of information about Slavic creatures available; their myths and legends were mostly passed down orally."

"Thanks." Stiles gestured to Dean. "Like I said, that'll wear off on its own; no way to get his voice back quicker. Something tells me you might enjoy the reprieve." With that, Stiles walked off just as abruptly as he'd approached.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, and Sam shrugged helplessly. "I'm not sure what that was about, either."


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia frowned at Stiles. "What did he say it was?"

"A  _simargl_ ," Stiles answered. "Of Slavic origin, apparently. Part Fae, part animal, and part human."

The banshee tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I'll see if there's anything in the beastiary, but if its legends were passed down orally, then I doubt that there'll be anything in there."

"I'll help you; we used to have the most extensive supernatural library on the West Coast, and almost all of it was put on my laptop," Peter added. Lydia nodded. Since the Nogitsune, she and Peter had reached an... understanding of sorts. Stiles didn't know all of the details, nor did he want to.

"Good." Scott nodded in approval. The pack was gathered in Derek's loft, strategizing. Stiles had told them about his encounter with the  _simargl_ , and he wanted answers.

"I'm a little more concerned about the other thing he mentioned; the demon blood in me? Remember that part?" Stiles was aware that his voice was climbing higher, and he was close to hyperventilating.

"Stiles." Derek's voice was instinctively soothing, as was the hand the Beta laid on his shoulder.

It only served to irritate Stiles, but at least irritation was better than hysteria. He shrugged Derek's hand off, ignoring the hurt look on the werewolf's face. "I'm fine, Derek. Look, what if that demon blood- from the  _nichnytsia._ What if it's the reason the Nogitsune chose me?"

"Possible," Peter allowed, and then rolled his eyes at the looks everyone shot him. "Oh, come off it. It's a definite possibility, and you all know it. But I'm willing to bet it's not as big of a possibility as you're thinking, Stiles. From what you and your father have told us, whatever deal your mother's family made in order to get the spark was a long time ago. If part of that deal included a union between this-  _nichnytsia_ \- and a human, the demon blood will have been greatly diluted."

"But it's still a possibility," Stiles argued.

"Yes," Pete agreed. "Still a possibility."

***

When Stiles woke up, only to be confronted by the sight of a giant wolf-German Shepard cross with what looked like raven's wings sprouting from its back, his first thought was that he'd been kidnapped. Only, he wasn't tied down to anything. "What am I doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you; you, I believe, wish the same." The creature didn't talk; instead, the voice seemed to echo from all around them.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "Wait-  _Sidhall_?"

"Yes. You want to know if your  _nichnytsia_ blood attracted the Nogitsune." Stiles nodded mutely, and the creature's gaze seemed to soften in sympathy. "It did. All demons are related, though the demon whose blood runs through your vein is more benevolent than most others. The Nogitsune did not target you because you are wired wrong, or because there is something wrong with you. He chose you because he would have an easier time taking your body."

"That's not exactly comforting."

"It was not meant to be. The truth is never comfortable, as you have found out many times over." Stiles had to look away at that, blinking swiftly. "You may not wish to discover the truth behind your mother's family, young one."

"I deserve to know," Stiles protested hotly. "It's my family just as much as it is hers."

The creature tilted his head and regarded him for a moment. "It is." After a moment's silence, Sidhall sighed. "I will help you. But not just yet- you have much that still troubles you. I would not add to that."

Stiles wanted to protest, but then something was dragging him under.

***

"- _iles? Stiles, wake up!"_

John had never been more terrified in his entire life- not even when he'd first realized that his son was possessed, not when Claudia was dying,  _never_. Stiles wouldn't wake up, he wasn't breathing, he barely had a pulse-

Stiles woke violently, yelling and swinging out with a fist. John leaned out of the way and caught the fist. "Stiles? Stiles, you're okay- it was just a dream."

Stiles stared at John uncomprehendingly for several moments before the tension bled out of him in increments. "Christ," he muttered, pulling his hand out of John's in order to bury his face in them. "What is it with supernatural beings and fucking with my dreams?"

John let the language slip. "Was it the  _simargl_? What did he say? Tell me everything, Stiles."

For some reason, that got Stiles to glare at him. "I'm not stupid, Dad. And you're not the only hunter in town. If I was going to tell anyone any info in order to track down this creature, I'd tell the Winchesters."

John flinched at that. "What are you talking about?"

"They're Men of Letters." Stiles flung the covers back and swung himself out of bed, grabbing his laptop. "From what I've been able to dig up, they were basically the record keepers for hunters- they'd provide the information, and the hunters were the ones who actually worked in the field. Then there was some sort of massacre- a demon, a powerful one, infiltrated an initiation ritual, killed all of the members there, and then proceeded to hunt down the rest of the members. Then there's no more mention of the Men of Letters."

"So..."

"So, if anyone would know what to do about this, it would be them."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia wants a piece of the new hunters.
> 
> Dean's not too happy about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY YOU GET TO SEE WINCEST
> 
> I really needed Lydia being like "You're my new best friend/plaything/partner/etc" to Sam and eyeing up Dean and the both of them getting all pissy about it. :')

"Dean, get the damned door already!"

"Bitch, I'm nowhere near it!" Dean's voice came from the bathroom, and that was when Sam realized that, yes, the shower was running- and neither one of them particularly wanted the other to be seen naked by anyone else.

Sam rolled his eyes and shut the laptop before getting to his feet and opening the door. He barely had it open when a young woman- she looked about as old as that Alpha had- breezed in, already talking. "Good God,  _obviously_ you two are bachelors- you're staying in a motel, really? How on  _earth_ do you even get any research done?" She spotted the laptop then apparently, because before Sam could warn her away from it, she was sliding into his recently vacated chair and opening the laptop. "Hm. You've made a good start, but Peter and I have already discounted all of these websites. The internet has  _no_ useful information, we're going to have to get it from books, maybe see if we can track down a Slavic mythology expert." While she was talking, the girl had been packing up Sam's laptop and now held it out to him expectantly. "Well? You're the one with all the muscles, and the brains, from what I hear- let's get going."

Sam blinked. "Um. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

The girl huffed and made to drop the laptop bag; Sam caught it with a yelp. "Lydia Martin," she informed him. "And you, Sam Winchester, are my new best friend. Come on, I want to see how that Impala of yours drives. Better than Jackson's Porsche ever did, I bet."

"No one's taking my baby anywhere." Sam looked over Lydia's shoulder and had to roll his eyes when he saw that Dean had walked out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. "And what do you want with my brother?"

Sam didn't like the way Lydia was eyeing Dean; it was almost predatory. "You're brother's the brains of your little... dog-and-moose show, or so I've been told. I'm taking him with me to research, Peter and Derek are trying to track down the  _simargl_ , since it decided to fuck with Stiles's dreams last night." Lydia's gaze hardened with the last sentence; Sam was just glad that look wasn't directed at him.

"So... You're part of this pack, then? Which one are you?" Dean was looking back at Lydia curiously, and if Sam didn't know better, he'd think his brother was calculating how much effort it would take to get Lydia into bed with him.

Considering Sam was already there, and that neither one of them liked sharing, Sam was confident that he was actually calculating how far away all of his weapons were.

"Banshee. But I know an awful lot of tricks," Lydia answered, her smile saccharine sweet.

"Banshee," Dean echoed, exchanging a glance with Sam.

"Yes, banshee. Now, you're welcome to join us whenever you get some clothing on- I'll text Stiles to come pick you up on his way to the library."

"Wait a second," Sam protested. "How did  _you_ get here?"

"Derek carried me."

***

Sam jumped when Dean slammed into the chair across from him. "Dude, we're in a library," he hissed. Lydia was glaring, too; she transferred her glare from Dean to Stiles after a moment.

"I told you to pick him up, not piss him off," she said icily.

Stiles shrugged unrepentantly. "Never did like cocky bastards who think they know everything about cars."

"You insulted his car?" Sam stared at Dean, his mouth hanging open. "What did you-"

"All I said was that I was surprised it was still running after everything it's been through!" Dean protested, earning himself a glare from their table as well as a few nearby patrons.

"Then he started trying to give me advice about it," Stiles added, his voice flat as he glared at Dean.

"Your transmission needs work- I admit you're pretty good at milking her, but she'd run even smoother if you got the transmission tuned up, and your shocks could stand to be replaced," Dean argued, but he was careful to keep his voice down.

"Just because  _you_ drive an outdated muscle car doesn't mean that you know jackshit about my Jeep," Stiles hissed, and then yelped. He shot a betrayed look at Lydia, who raised one unimpressed eyebrow.

"Do you want to research, or do I need to get Derek to drag you out with him and Peter?" she asked calmly. Stiles snorted.

"Only if you want to lose a pack member or two."

"Then shut up, grab some books, and get reading, Stilinski. And  _don't_ talk to either Winchester unless you need to ask them a question directly related to the case, and without the intention of leading one or both of them into another argument or down one of your favored rabbit trails." Sam could see Stiles struggling to find a loophole in the young woman's instructions; Sam had to admit, he was impressed.

"Dammit. Why do I love you again?"

"Because I tricked you out of your favorite toy on the playground in first grade without you realizing it," Lydia replied; she smiled at Stiles, and there was real affection there, and in Stiles's answering smile.

"You always were a manipulative bitch."

"Queen, Stiles. Or goddess; I rather like that nickname."

"That's only for when you throw Peter off his high horse, babe."

"Don't call me babe."

***

 Stiles's phone started buzzing a couple of hours after he and Dean arrived- when he saw who was calling, he got to his feet and headed for a deserted part of the library.

"What'd you guys find?" he asked, his voice low; Derek would have no problem hearing him.

"Tracks- looked like a big dog."

"I told you about the dream."

"Yeah, you did. The weird thing is, there's no scent around the tracks. None at all; you can't even smell the forest."

Stiles was quiet for a moment, absorbing that new information. "If you're calling me, that means you lost the trail, correct?"

"Yeah." Derek sounded sheepish. "You said it had wings, so maybe- "

"It flew off." Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. "Jesus christ. Okay, well, obviously you can't track this thing through scent."

"Yeah. What about you guys, any luck tracking down its lore?"

"Nope. And I'm not surprised that Peter's laptop didn't have any information on it; I mean there's  _very_ little information available online, and we've barely found any more in any books. We're looking at a veritable ghost, Derek."

"Except this thing's solid, and it's interested in you because of your mom's family."

"Yeah." Stiles was quiet for a moment. "Hey Derek?" His throat was suddenly dry, and he prayed that Derek couldn't hear his pounding heartbeat; he probably could have chosen a better time to ask this, but that dream last night, and the creature's words- he needed to know.

"Yes, Stiles?"

"Why didn't you tell me I'm your mate?"

Silence. Then, just before Stiles was about to stammer out an apology and hang up, "I wanted to keep you safe."

"So you decided to keep me in the dark? Yeah, how well has  _that_ plan ever worked for us, huh?"

"Not like that. I was going to tell you- but I wasn't even sure that it was real. That was another reason I took Peter with me to hunt down my mother's claws. I needed to ask her, to confirm. Deaton was no help."

That got an amused huff. "When is he ever?" Stiles chewed on his lower lip before asking, "So. If it's real, then- "

"Then I want to do this right," Derek said firmly, interrupting Stiles. "That means we talk about this in person, not over the phone."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "All right, Sourwolf, don't get your fur in a twist. We'll talk about it later."

"Okay. See you."

"See you." Stiles frowned thoughtfully at his phone as the call disconnected- it sounded like Derek was planning to... To what, exactly? Woo Stiles?

"So. Mates with a 'wolf, huh?" Dean was leaning against a shelf, and Stiles had to fight not to roll his eyes.

"Yes. Not really surprising, considering we saved each other's lives even when we hated each other's guts. Why do you care?"

Dean shrugged. "Not too keen on the idea of more baby monsters running around."

Stiles stared at Dean incredulously. Did he just- "Fuck you," Stiles hissed, shoving his phone in his pocket as he stalked forward. "They're not monsters- they're  _pack_. They're better people than you could ever hope to be. I've heard the legends about the Winchester brothers- I've read the  _Supernatural_  books, and Chris has kept up on hunter gossip. At least  _we_  never killed anyone that hadn't already killed others. How many times have you killed monsters who were just trying to blend in, ones who  _truly_ hated what they were, and wanted to change that? Too damn many, that's how many.  _We've_ managed to keep our trouble in our town, and yeah, sometimes it's taken a while to get our shit together, but nowhere  _near_ as long as it took you and your brother, from the way I've heard it. As for the babies,  _Derek'_ _s_ a guy, you dickwad, and I may be a spark and I may have demon blood in me, but I can tell you right now that I don't have a uterus, nor do I plan on having one magically implanted in me, and I highly doubt Derek would either. So you and your brother can fuck right off after this case is done, and so help me God if I  _ever_ catch wind of you guys anywhere  _near_ Beacon Hills again- "

"You have demon blood?"

 _Great._ Stiles rounded on Sam, folding his arms over his chest. "And if I do?" he challenged.

Sam's gaze flickered to Dean and then back to Stiles. "I used to," he said quietly. "The trials, to close the gates of Hell, they got rid of it. But I grew up with demon blood, too."

Stiles studied Sam's face for a hint of a lie. He couldn't find any, and he'd gotten pretty good at that lately. Came from seeing the lies in his own face. "Born with it?"

Sam shook his head. "Fed to me, when I was six months old."

Stiles sucked in a breath. "So you're talking high-level demon blood. Like one of the demons who actually works in Hell."

Sam nodded. "Azazeal. Dean put a bullet in him from the Colt, but that didn't help."

"Ruby," Stiles said, half-questioningly.

"Ruby," Sam confirmed, his voice sad. Stiles didn't miss how Dean shifted closer, or how the older Winchester laid a hand against the small of his brother's back.

Stiles studied Sam for a moment. "If you want, we could talk about it," he offered. "For notes, or just for the hell of it."

"That's- yeah. I'd like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, longer chapter!
> 
> Also, I'm having way too much fun with the emnity between Stiles and Dean.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek was waiting for Stiles when the teenager got home. The sheriff was still at the station, but Derek was waiting in Stiles's bedroom. Stiles rolled his eyes as he tossed his messenger bag in the direction of his desk. "You do realize there's more to this house than my bedroom, right?"

Derek shrugged. "Yeah. But I wanted to talk to you, so I figured I'd wait for you here."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "My dad doesn't want to hunt you down, you know," he pointed out. "He's not pissed at you for any reason." Derek shrugged again, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I need a shower, so you can wait for a little bit." Derek just nodded, and Stiles shook his head as he turned around and headed down the hall, grabbing a towel from the closet as he went and muttering under his breath. He thought about taking extra time, just to be a dick, but decided against it; he wanted to have this conversation.

Derek flushed slightly and looked to the side when Stiles came back into his bedroom with just a towel around his waist. Stiles smirked, bending to rummage through his drawers for clothes; he opted to go for briefs, sweatpants, and an old Iron Man t-shirt. Once he was dressed, he sat down on his computer chair, spinning it to face Derek. "So. Talk."

Derek looked down at his hands, a frown furrowing his brow as he thought. "We are mates," he started. "Your dad was right about that. When I talked to my mom, she told me that what I thought-- suspected-- was right."

Stiles nodded thoughtfully. "So what, exactly, does that mean?" he asked.

Derek sighed. "For werewolves, mates are like what humans call 'soulmates.' The one person that we're most compatible with in the entire world, that we'll love and protect above anyone, even pack. Some wolves find their mate to be their best friend, and for others, it's... More."

"More?" Stiles asked, pushing gently. He didn't want to overwhelm Derek, but he had to know.

"More can mean a lot of things," Derek explained. "Maybe the mates will be so in tune that they don't even need to speak or look at each other to know what they're thinking. Mates are supposed to complement each other, be strong where the other is weak. The strength of the bond is different for each mate, but... I talked to Deaton, as well as Peter. Peter's had more experience with the bond, and they're both experts on lore. They agree that the bond between us is the strongest they've ever seen or heard of, and we haven't even consummated it."

"Consummated?"

Derek nodded. "There's a ceremony that mates go through to complete the bond, make it unbreakable except by death. It binds the souls together. The ceremony always starts the same, but the way it is completed varies for each pair."

"So, if a pair is meant to be only friends--"

"Then they would do something that demonstrates it. If they're meant to be more..." A flush crept up Derek's neck, and Stiles had a pretty good idea what would happen.

"So, there's no way of telling until we complete the ceremony?" he asked, just for clarification.

Derek nodded. "There are clues, sometimes; indicators. We haven't had any of those."

Stiles frowned. "We've saved each others lives," he pointed out. "Don't those count?"

Derek shook his head. "That's just an indicator that we're mates. Any other pair would do the same."

Stiles thought that over for a few minutes. "When do we need to complete the bond, or whatever?" he asked.

"The sooner the better," Derek answered. "Deaton said there's a chance that the longer we go unbound, the more chance we have of either or both of us losing control. I could lose control of my wolf, and you could lose control of your spark."

Stiles frowned again; he hadn't even realized that was something that could happen. "I'm going to take a shot in the dark and assume it wouldn't be a good thing for me to lose control," he said slowly; Derek shook his head.

"Definitely not," he confirmed. "Deaton didn't give me specifics, but what he did say implied that it would be really bad."

They fell silent for several moments after that, Derek watching Stiles while the teenager thought. "We need to do the ceremony," he said finally. "What are the requirements?"

"A new moon," Derek answered. "We'll need to be in the preserve; Deaton can do the rest."

Stiles made a face. "Will he have to... Stick around?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

Derek shook his head quickly. "No; he just has to set up a few things, and then he'll leave. The ceremony will start when the new moon reaches its peak."

"Which we won't exactly be able to tell," Stiles muttered. "Great." He grabbed his phone, tapping a few buttons. "Next new moon's in three nights," he announced. "So we'll have to wait until then." Derek nodded, and Stiles copied the movement, putting his phone away. "So. On to the next order of business: The _simargl_. We couldn't find anymore information in the library, and the internet's full of conflicting information."

"So we're screwed," Derek surmised.

"Up shit creek without a paddle," Stiles confirmed.

Derek growled. "So what're we going to do, then?" he asked.

Stiles shrugged. "There's really not much we can," he said, resigned. "Just... I guess the only real thing left is to talk to it."

***

Except Sidhall wasn't exactly cooperating; he appeared to have vanished into thin air. By the time the night of the new moon rolled around, no one had seen hide nor hair of the _simargl _, and no one wanted to risk the bond between Stiles and Derek going uncompleted for any longer than necessary. Thus, Derek and Stiles found themselves in the middle of the forest with Deaton. The druid had them strip to nothing-- "Just in case you two are meant to be lovers; you really won't have time to nicely remove your clothes later, and I'm assuming you'd want to walk out of here with some."-- so they were both standing there nude while Deaton etched symbols into the ground around them, murmuring low enough that even Derek couldn't hear him. When Deaton finished, he nodded to himself in satisfaction, straightening. "I will see you two tomorrow," he said, inclining his head towards Derek and Stiles. "Good luck."__

Stiles shook his head. "That's not really comforting," he muttered.

Derek snorted. "Not really," he agreed.

They drifted off into an awkward silence, which Stiles eventually broke. "So. How long until the new moon, do you think?"

Derek shrugged. "No clue," he answered honestly.

Stiles sighed, and they drifted into silence once again.

They didn't talk until Derek suddenly twitched, and then frowned. "What the--" he broke off, crumpling to his knees with a sharp cry, clutching his head in his hands.

"Derek? _Derek!_ " Stiles ran to Derek's side, dropping to his knees beside the wolf. "Derek, what's happening, what's wrong?" he asked, his hands running over Derek's arms. "Derek, talk to me," he begged.

Derek lifted his head, and Stiles stared in shock. Derek was in full Beta form. He didn't get a chance to say anything, because then the new moon took him, as well.

***

When Stiles came to, it was light out, and he frowned, squinting against the brightness. He felt odd, like he was too big for his skin. The second thing he was aware of was the warmth pressed against his back, and the arm draped over his waist. After a moment, flashes from the night before came back to him, and he groaned, dropping his head against the arm under his face. The form behind him-- _Derek_ \-- grunted, and Stiles could feel him stirring. "So," Stiles said, a bit awkwardly. "Apparently we're one of the 'more than friends' couples."

Derek harrumphed, and actualy nuzzled closer to Stiles. "Tell me you're not a morning person," he muttered. "Or I might just have to kill you."

Stiles laughed at that, and Derek growled and nipped the back of his neck; Stiles's laugh quickly shifted into a moan, and he couldn't help the way his hips jerked. He could feel Derek smirking against his skin, and decided that yeah, they could wait a bit longer before going to see Deaton.

***

Deaton didn't have any particularly useful information, just congratulations and a few pointers, when they finally showed up at the clinic. After they left the clinic, Stiles got Derek to drive him over to the motel that the Winchesters were staying at. He knocked on the door and waited. Derek's head tilted, and Stiles didn't have to glance at Derek to know what he was hearing-- something being moved from in front of the doorway. It was a bit odd, hearing what Derek heard, but Stiles figured it just came with the bond.

Before he could pursue that train of thought, the door opened to reveal Dean. "What're you doing here?" he asked bluntly; he was shirtless, and Stiles could see the edges of a couple of hickeys on his neck.

Wisely, he decided not to comment on that, instead saying, "I need to talk to you and Sam."

"Is that Stiles?" Sam's head came into view from the bathroom door, and Stiles lifted one hand in greeting. Sam returned the gesture. "Dean, let them in. And for God's sake, put a shirt on."

"God doesn't care if I have a shirt on, Sam. Or did you forget that he liked to explicitly write out me _and_ you having sex?"

 _That could be taken a couple of different ways,_ Stiles mused. He could tell that Derek was thinking the same thing he was, but thankfully the werewolf kept his mouth shut. The last thing they needed to do was antagonise two strange hunters. Especially strange hunters who were also Men of Letters.

No one spoke until Sam came back out of the bathroom, fully dressed, and wordlessly shoved a t-shirt at the still-bare-chested Dean, who rolled his eyes and pulled it on. "So," Sam said, sitting on one of the beds; Stiles and Derek were in the only two chairs. "What can we do for you?"

"I'd like to see the library," Stiles said. "I know the Men of Letters have been gathering information for millenia; maybe they have something useful in there."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. "You sure? It's several states away," Sam said doubtfully.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I figured. But we haven't found anything through the usual sources, so it's time for the _un_ usual."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances, and Stiles was reminded that they were soulmates-- it was obvious that they didn't need to talk to have an entire conversation. After a moment, Sam looked back at Stiles. "We'll take you. But it'll take too long to drive-- I don't like wasting time, and I'm guessing you don't either."

Stiles smiled wryly. "Got it in one.

Sam nodded. "So, we'll see if we can get a hold of Cas, get him to take us. Just you and me; he can't take more than two people at a time, and if he'll take you and me, we'll probably be able to find what we need easier."

Derek growled. "You're not taking him anywhere without me."

Stiles laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "I can take care of myself," he murmured. "You don't have to worry about me." Derek didn't look particularly reassured, but he didn't protest further. "I'll go with you; but Dean will have to stay with Chris or my dad-- I don't want him unsupervised." Dean spluttered, and Stiles glared at him. "Sorry, but we heard about the Mark of Cain-- we're not risking anything. The only reason you weren't told to pick who you wanted to bunk with before was because of Sam. You two're soulmates, right?"

Sam nodded. "The books?" he guessed.

"Yep. So you two anchor each other. But I'll be gone, and so will Sam. I'm not leaving you with Derek, he'll probably end up tearing your throat out with his teeth or something. So you get to choose who you want to be your babysitter."

Dean was clearly unhappy about the situation, but a look from Sam had him muttering, "I'll stay with the sheriff." Stiles nodded.

"Good. How soon until the angel can get here?" he asked, directing his question at Sam, who shrugged.

"Depends. Heaven's still a bit chaotic, and all the surviving angels pretty much latched onto Cas as their makeshift God until the real one decides to show his face again. We get Dean to pray, though, and it probably won't be too long."

"All right." Stiles reached for a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling his number down. "Call me there when he gets here."


End file.
